A Breath of Prairie and other stories Part 44

He bowed once more, and moved toward the door. His hand was upon the k.n.o.b, when an imperious command brought him to a standstill.

"Wait," said Miss Willis. "Dr. Carter, if I remain here--"

He coolly interrupted. "Pardon me, Miss Willis, but my patient is waiting. I shall be at liberty in ten minutes, then I shall return."

This time he was gone.

Number Four must have been an adjoining room, for the next instant she could hear Dr. Carter's voice through the thin board part.i.tion.

His speech was as unemotional and businesslike as when addressing her.

She could not make up her mind whether to go or wait, and so sat pondering and presently forgot to go.

Here was a man such as she had never dreamed of as existing; one absolutely disinterested, who treated people--even people like Clementine Willis--as abstractly as a master mechanic goes about repairing a worn-out engine. Perhaps it was a characteristically feminine decision at which she presently arrived, but anyway she made up her mind, then and there, to know more of this man.

After a while Miss Willis fell to surveying the room; with an undefined hope, perhaps, that it would throw some further light upon the young doctor's character. It was essentially the home of a busy man. Every article had a use and a definite one. The spirit of the place was contagious, and presently she began to have a feeling that she was the one useless thing there.

In one corner of the room was the desk where he had been writing, upon which was a pile of loose ma.n.u.script. Reference books were scattered all about, some with improvised bookmarks, but mostly face downward, just as they had been left. The environment was that of one who seeks to overtake and outstrip Time, rather than to forget him.

Dr. Carter returned at last, entering quickly but quietly.

"Pardon my leaving you so abruptly," he apologized, the impersonal note again in his voice, and an inquiry as well. He seemed surprised that she had not departed.

The girl was manifestly at a loss for words; this was such an extraordinary predicament for her to find herself in that she determined to say something at any cost.

"Dr. Carter," she faltered, "I--have changed my mind; I--I--wish you to continue my treatment--if you will." It was not at all what she had intended saying, and she was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow suddenly hot; she knew that they must be rosy.

It was likely that young Dr. Carter was unused to smiling; but suddenly his eyes were alight. He spoke, and the dry, impersonal note was gone.

"I'm glad," he said. "We hard-working doctors can stand almost anything--without caring a snap of our fingers, too--but when it comes to doubting or questioning--not _our_ methods, but those that have been tried and proven, and of which we merely avail ourselves,--why, we can't be expected to waste much sympathy on the scoffers."

He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to the maid: "Tell Dr.

Leonard that Miss Willis has decided to continue her treatment with me."

Now, in the light of the foregoing experience, it was strange that during the next week Miss Willis's throat should require considerably more attention than it ever had under the celebrated specialist's personal ministrations. She made five visits to Dr. Carter, but it could not be said that he had advanced an inch toward the opening she had made. His voice and manner were a bit more sympathetic--and that was all.

Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in the fact that her ident.i.ty, for the time being, was erased by a number; during each visit she made it a point to learn what this number was, treating the matter in a sportive spirit, unbending her wit to ridicule a practice which failed to discriminate among the host of patients who came to see Dr. Leonard.

"For our purposes," Dr. Carter tolerantly explained, "a number more conveniently identifies our patients; their differences are only pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss Willis, unless there is some unusual circ.u.mstance a.s.sociated with it, to impress it upon the mind."

She was curious to learn what unusual circ.u.mstance had caused him to retain her name, but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have been amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that it was her beauty; that he was clinging rather desperately to the unlovely number, which had no individuality and whose features were altogether neutral and negative.

The change in his manner, when it came, almost took away her breath.

It was on the occasion of her last visit. After the familiar preliminary examination, instead of proceeding at once with the treatment, as had been his invariable custom, Dr. Carter walked over to his desk and sat down. For a s.p.a.ce he soberly regarded her.

"Miss Willis," said he, presently, "there is nothing whatever the matter with your throat."

She gasped. This calm statement brought confusingly to her mind the circ.u.mstance that she had forgotten her throat and its ailment, when, of all considerations, the afflicted member should have been uppermost in her mind. Dr. Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering why she continued to come after the occasion to do so no longer existed.

He at once relieved her embarra.s.sment, though.

"I suppose," he said, and she felt a thrill at the note of regret in his voice, "that you will be glad to escape from this hive?"

"No, I shan't," she said, with unnecessary warmth. This involuntary denial surprised even herself, and she blushed.

The smile left Dr. Carter's lips, but he said nothing--merely sat looking at her in his grave way.

Here was to be another period, which Miss Willis could look back upon as one of temporary inability to find words. She started to leave, furious with herself for her inaptness, and instead of going she paused and turned back.

Dr. Carter had risen; he was standing as she had left him. She drew a card from her cardcase.

"You may think what you please of me, Dr. Carter," she said with sudden impulse, extending the card and meeting his look steadily, "but I would be glad if you were to call."

It seemed to take him a long time to read the address. All at once his hands were trembling, and when he looked up the expression in the gray eyes brought a swift tide of color to the girl's face, where it deepened, and deepened, until she tingled from head to foot, and a mist obscured her vision.

"Nothing in all this world would give me more pleasure," said the man.

The girl turned and fled.

That very evening Dr. Carter availed himself of the invitation.

Singularly enough, since she had been hoping all the afternoon that he would come, Clementine Willis was frightened when his name was announced. Her hand was shaking when he took it in his; but there was not a trace of expression on his face.

Miss Willis realized, for the first time, that she had been horribly brazen--or, at least, she told herself that she had been--and as a consequence, she was wretchedly ill at ease. Her distress was in marked contrast with the man's self-possession, which amounted almost to indifference. There was no spark visible of the fire which had flashed earlier in the day. It was as though he had steeled himself to remain invulnerable throughout the call.

And the usually composed girl prattled aimlessly, voicing plat.i.tudes, conventionalities, ba.n.a.lities, inanities--anything to gain time and to cover her embarra.s.sment: to all of which the man listened in sober silence, watching her steadily.

Abruptly, Miss Willis grew angry with herself, and stopped. When angry she was collected.

Dr. Carter's face lit up humorously.

"You have no idea," he said, "how you have relieved my mind."

The girl looked a question.

"I supposed I was the embarra.s.sed individual," he laughed.

"If you had only given me a hint," suggested the girl, reproachfully.

She was now amazed that she had ever lost her grip upon herself, and wondered why she had.

"A hint!" he exclaimed. "I was dumb; I thought you'd see."

The tension was off, and they laughed together. From then on, both remained natural. In the midst of a lull, Dr. Carter suddenly said:

"You'll think me a barbarian, Miss Willis, but I have a request to make. I am in the mood to-night to be unconventional"--the corners of his serious mouth lifted humorously--"to be what I really am," he illuminated, "and to meet you in the same spirit." He paused with a little shrug. "It is a disappointing reversion to the primitive, I must admit." He glanced up whimsically. "May I ask you a question--any question?"

"Do you think it possible," the girl evaded, "for a modern woman to meet you--the way you say--naturally?"

He seemed to question her seriousness.

"I have seen little of women for a number of years," he returned, "but I'd hate to think it impossible."